


The Price of Having it All

by SingARoundelay



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst with a sorta happy ending, Gay Bashing, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, homophobic slur, it's hurt/comfort fic of course it's angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingARoundelay/pseuds/SingARoundelay
Summary: Marvin learns the painful truth that wanting to have it all has its consequences -- so does being gay in the 70s. Based off THISamazing artby @lessracquetball on tumblr.---“You are out of your fucking mind.”Marvin pulls the receiver away from his ear and glares at it, as if Trina can see his expression through the phone from thirty blocks away. There’s silence on the other end so clearly his quasi-tantrum hasn’t had its desired effect. He sighs and cradles the phone back against his ear once more, wrapping the cord around his finger.





	The Price of Having it All

“You are out of your fucking mind.”

Marvin pulls the receiver away from his ear and glares at it as if Trina can see his expression through the phone from thirty blocks away. There’s silence on the other end so clearly his quasi-tantrum hasn’t had its desired effect. He sighs and cradles the phone back against his ear once more, wrapping the cord around his finger.

“Trina. I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t important.”

“And I don’t care.” Trina’s voice is clipped. Marvin isn’t sure why she’s the one who’s so pissed off and at him, no less. If anything _he_ should be mad at her for bailing on this and he’s the one keeping his cool. “It could be the Queen of Sheba coming to town and my answer would still be no. I can’t believe you have the audacity to even ask me. No, no wait. I _can_. You have to be the most self-centered person I’ve ever met.”

“Please.” The word tastes sour on his tongue. He’s not used to pulling it out of his vocabulary. “I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“Give me a break, we both know that's a lie.” The laugh that rings through the phone is far from kind. Marvin didn't know she had that much bitterness in her. “Why don’t you ask _him_?”

Marvin pales at the suggestion. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Well, then I don’t know what you’re going to do, Marvin. The biggest bonus to this whole newly-minted divorce thing is that I don’t have to jump when you say so, just so you can keep on pretending you’re straight and keep all your little work friends and clients happy.”

He swallows hard. “But this was already in the works a year ago,” he says quietly. “Back when we were still together.”

“Then you should have thought of that before I caught you in the den fucking Whizzer.”

All that’s left is a soft buzzing sound. Trina’s hung up on him and he’s no closer to finding a date for the work function than he was twenty minutes ago. So maybe he was asking a lot of Trina to come to this thing on his arm but he still thought she _would_ in spite of everything that's happened over the past six months. He figured he’d endure a bit of verbal abuse before she eventually capitulated just like she always did. Hell, he figured the promise of a new dress and jewelry would have been enough to sway her decision. Apparently not.

Marvin runs a hand through his hair and fights the urge to slam the phone down in the cradle. Last time he did that, he damn near broke the receiver. Funny how Trina's the only one who can elicit this sort of reaction.

“Trouble in paradise, babe?”

And there’s Whizzer, leaning casually against the doorframe, the white stick of his lollipop sticking out from between his lips. Usually, the sight of Whizzer with his lips wrapped around _anything_ (no matter how innocent) would bring a positive reaction from Marvin. They'd wind up fighting for dominance against the closest flat surface and Marvin would find a _much_ more enjoyable thing for Whizzer to suck on. Tonight, however, Marvin huffs and grumbles under his breath. Whizzer doesn’t seem bothered by the reaction which, somehow, only infuriates Marvin.

Ultimately, this is all Whizzer’s fault. 

Even if Marvin should have been the adult in his marriage and never married Trina. Never should have gotten her pregnant in the first place and then never should have had affair after affair after affair because he needed to be with a man and have his wife on the side. But Marvin will never admit he’s a petulant child and will never admit his vast need to have it all no matter who he hurts in the process. The latest and perpetual victim in this is Trina, not Marvin.

So, perhaps this is partially Marvin’s fault. Not that he’ll admit it. Easier to blame everyone but himself for his failings.

“Marv, what’s wrong?” Whizzer pushes off from the doorframe, an actual hint of worry creasing his brow. He pauses just shy of Marvin and pulls the candy from his mouth. He looks for a moment like he doesn’t know what to do with it or his hands, so he tosses it to the nearest trash bin and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“She turned me down.”

“ _She?_ ” Whizzer asks, cocking an eyebrow in a way that both infuriates and arouses Marvin. “I thought you swore off women completely after that whole ‘divorce your wife’ thing. If you’ve started to change your mind again, I would like to think I’d be the first to hear about it. You know, give me a bit more of a heads up than you gave Trina and all. For the record, I have no desire to see your face buried in a pair of tits.”

Nope, that eyebrow raise coupled with Whizzer’s diatribe has only served to infuriate Marvin even more. He pushes past Whizzer with a growl, the sound turning into a snarl when Whizzer grabs him by the bicep to keep him from leaving the room.

“Okay, okay, so I went too far.” 

He doesn’t apologize, though, Marvin notes. Still, Marvin doesn’t struggle to break free and, instead, allows himself to be pulled into Whizzer’s arms. He breathes in the spicy aftershave Whizzer wears and relaxes bit-by-infinitesimal-bit. Whizzer leans his cheek on top of Marvin’s head and they stand there for a small eternity while Marvin crawls off the proverbial ledge. Funny how Whizzer always manages to fix everything simply by being there.

“Care to tell me why your ex-wife has you in a twist?”

Marvin presses a quick kiss to Whizzer’s neck and disentangles himself from the embrace. “There’s this thing at work. It was planned back when we were still married. It’s how we either wine and dine the big clients at the firm to keep them happy or steal some big accounts from one of the other big CPAs.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes at that. “I think I should be fairly offended that you didn’t think to ask _me_ first. You should be smart enough to know that Trina isn’t going to say yes no matter what you say or whatever stupid thing you offer her, so I don’t get why you didn’t skip the damn heartache and ask me to come with you in the first place.”

“Because we’re expected to have a plus one!” Marvin shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

Whizzer shrugs, cocking his head to one side. “Okay… I don’t see what this has to do with Trina.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Marvin lets out a frustrated noise. “Because she’s always accompanied me to these things.”

“So… you’re divorced, big fucking deal. So you go solo. I’m still not getting the problem, Marvin. You’re making a mountain out of a mole-hill.”

“Because divorce isn’t something that’s easily laughed off by these people. They’re Conservative with a capital C.” If divorce doesn't go over well, Marvin can only imagine how poorly the whole 'gay' thing would go over.

“What part of Conservative Clients did you not understand?” Marvin shoots back. “Was it the conservative or the part that _I’m supposed to be married to a woman_ that you happened to miss?”

“Ah yes, so you don’t have your pair of tits to come with you. Because god forbid your co-workers or your clients find out you’re gay. It’d be the end of the fucking _world_.”

This time Marvin does storm out of the living room and toward the kitchen, needing space and to be away from Whizzer and his goddamned laissez faire personality. Here he thought he’d get at least a tiny bit of sympathy from Whizzer but, as always, Whizzer has to make this about him. Because it’s so fucking easy for Whizzer to be out screwing and fucking and just be _out_ in general. He’s so carefree that it makes Marvin hate him as much as he envies that freedom. A freedom he'll never know.

He’s holding a bottle of scotch in his hand, plucked from atop the refrigerator, but he’s yet to actually pour one out. It’s part rage and part utter sadness that’s stayed his hand. He’s tried so hard to have it all and yet, every time he thinks he’s close, it gets pulled away at the last second. 

Christ this would all be easier if he were straight.

It would all be easier if he didn’t care for Whizzer so damn much.

It would be easier if he could accept who he is and not need to hide in his closet.

“Are you done having your tantrum?”

Marvin doesn’t turn around. “Are you done being an asshole?”

He hears a sigh and the soft sound of footsteps approach him from behind. It isn’t long before he felt Whizzer slide his arms around his waist. Also not an apology. To actually admit when one (or both) of them is wrong is a hill they both would die on. Neither would ever apologize for their behavior and neither would ever actually admit feelings. So they’d just hurt each other and fuck to make up and that was how they made their relationship work. A vicious cycle, true, but one that had yet to fail either of them.

It’d been good for the last four months. (Not three. Four. He doesn't count the time they fooled around during his mostly loveless marriage.)

“You know you could have asked me,” Whizzer says once again, nuzzling the side of Marvin’s neck. 

“You know I couldn’t,” Marvin replies, his voice quiet. “Can’t… shouldn’t. You know the people I work with.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Whizzer grins. “If they’re all as good looking as you—“

“They’re all old men,” Marvin interrupts. “I’m the youngest one there by fifty years.”

“Then I’ll break a few hips, you can be CEO and change the direction of the company. It’ll be a _coup d’áss_. Let me come.”

Marvin turns his head, rolling his eyes but there’s a hint of a smile on his face all the same. “Don’t you mean a _coup d’état_?”

“Same difference.”

* * *

Marvin tugs at his tie while he and Whizzer ride up to the top floor of the building in an uncomfortable silence. This is quite possibly the dumbest idea he’s ever agreed to — and that includes the night he acquiesced to Whizzer’s _come on, Trina is never home much before midnight from her mother’s_ line. He tugs at the tie again, grumbling as Whizzer bats his hand away and takes it upon himself to straighten the knot.

“I really hate that suit. And who the hell thinks a _knit tie_ is the height of fashion?” Whizzer grumbles, adjusting every aspect of Marvin’s attire.

“Well not all of us can have your devotion to style,” Marvin replies, ducking away before Whizzer can touch his hair. “And stop that. Someone could see us.”

“Someone in an elevator that doesn’t stop between the lobby and the penthouse,” he replies dryly. “Yes, do tell who is going to suddenly appear in a nearly-empty elevator and out you. Besides, this was innocent. I was fixing your pathetic excuse for a tie, not sucking your cock.”

“Shhh,” Marvin hisses, casting another panicked look around. “You… you never know.”

See. Whizzer is already misbehaving. Horrible idea.

Whizzer sighs and returns to Marvin’s side. Marvin, in turn, takes a tiny step away so their hands can’t touch. He ignores the second and louder sigh that comes from Whizzer.

“Don’t worry,” Whizzer says and Marvin can practically hear the venom dripping from his voice. “I won’t do anything to out you to your precious colleagues. Just like you said: I’m your cousin in from out of town and Trina is _so horribly_ under the weather and sends her _deepest regrets_ that she couldn’t make it tonight.”

Marvin ignores the sarcasm laced in every word. “Thank you.”

Whizzer makes a sound that’s halfway between a 'you're welcome' and a grunt. For Marvin, that’s enough. He compromises, reaching out between the divide to lace his fingers through Whizzer’s. He’s rewarded with a tiny squeeze — then the elevator doors open and Marvin jumps away as if he’d been burned. Once more he hears that grunt/grumble come from Whizzer and he ignores it again as he enters the party, already in full swing.

It’s different, this time, not having Trina with him. Marvin’s never been one for social gatherings, so he always stood off to the side while Trina dazzled the room. Now he’s the one who has to do the sparkling… or else let Whizzer do it and face inquiries and consequences.

“Such a shame Trina couldn’t be with us,” one man says, giving Marvin a firm handshake. "She always brought such an air of class to this event. You're a lucky man to have landed her as a bride."

“I know, Josh,” he replies with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. His biggest client, one he can't afford to offend. “I’ll tell her she was missed.”

“We’ll look for her next year.”

The man shuffles off before Marvin can say another word. He makes a beeline for one of the waitstaff, grabbing a cocktail from the tray and fights the urge to down it with one giant gulp. He’s already lost Whizzer in the throng of people and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing at this point. Fuck, he probably should have feigned that same so-called cold Trina “has” and figured out how to get through this yearly party _next_ year. Made the problem of 'straight, gay Marvin', future Marvin's problem rather than Present. Too late now.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of laughter, and he turns to where Whizzer is holding court with a few of the firm’s best (and most homophobic) clients circled around him. Josh now among them, because nothing about this night can go the way he needs it to. Wonderful. Marvin’s breath catches in his throat, unprepared for this. Whizzer fucking _promised_ him. Worst of all, Whizzer doesn’t give off the air of ‘straight’ — and one wrong word and this entire charade will have been for naught. Marvin cautiously approaches, taking a giant sip of liquid courage as he sidles next to Whizzer.

“You look like you’re having a good time,” Marvin says under his breath, his gaze darting between Whizzer and the other assembled men as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

“Marvin! You didn’t tell us your brother was such a comedian,” Josh says, lifting his glass in a toast. 

“ _Brother_ —” Marvin chokes on the word, then glares at Whizzer. So now half the people here think he’s his cousin, the other half his brother. Yeah, this whole thing is about to go to hell in a handbasket. 

“Brother,” Whizzer confirms, draping an arm around Marvin’s shoulder and flashes him a grin. 

Marvin instinctively relaxes against the other man, arm sliding around Whizzer’s waist in return. It’s such a natural stance for the two that Marvin doesn’t even realize he’s practically nestled against Whizzer’s side until it’s too late. Damn Whizzer for being so tactile… and damn himself for being unable to resist the magnetic pull that is Whizzer.

It’s as if time stands still. The men assembled around them stop talking and laughing and instead stare at Whizzer and Marvin.

There’s nothing brotherly about the way they stand. Marvin’s keenly aware of the double standard in this moment. If it were him with his hand resting on Trina’s waist and/or ass, no one would bat an eye. They’d probably counter it with some sort of crass joke bordering on harassment and everyone would laugh it off. In these circles, men certainly don’t drop their hand to rest on the other’s ass as Whizzer’s just done. But because this is two men—because a man doesn’t lean into another’s embrace—it’s as if world war three is about to break out. 

Realizing he’s powerless to enact any sort of damage control, Marvin gives Whizzer a horror-struck look. Whizzer is seemingly oblivious. Fuck fuck fuck _fuck._

“ _Brother_.” Josh spits out, the word a slur on his lips.

“We’re close,” Whizzer says with a shrug and ruffles Marvin’s hair.

Enough.

Marvin grabs Whizzer’s wrist and yanks him through the party, bumping into people and spilling various drinks along the way. He hears words like “fucking faggot” and “fruit” directed at his retreating back. He doesn’t know if people are watching him or if it was just that small group making their displeasure known, but Marvin isn’t about to take any chances. He shoves Whizzer into the first unoccupied room he can find.

Which happens to be a bedroom. Of course. Because this night couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Are you out of your godforsaken mind?” Marvin hisses. He keeps his voice down, not wanting to draw even more attention to their argument. He’s already trying to come up with damage control, to see if there’s any possible way of salvaging his job and his reputation.

“What is your problem?” Whizzer replies, draining the last of his own drink. “I was having a perfectly good time until you decided to come interrupt me. If anything, I had those guys eating out of my hand and singing your praises until you came over and fucked it all up.” Whizzer takes a step toward Marvin. “Or are you just pissed that I was playing Trina’s role a little _too_ well?” Whizzer narrows his eyes at Marvin. “You always try to fit me into the role of your goddamned wife so now you’re pissed when I do exactly what you want? Make up your fucking mind because you can’t have it both ways, no matter how hard you try.” 

Whizzer takes another step toward Marvin and then another until they’re almost chest to chest. In any other place, at any other time, Marvin would have relished in the anger and in the phenomenal sex they’d have, feeding off hatred rather than love. Instead, Marvin backs up until his back is against the proverbial wall. As he moves away, he hates the way fury flashes in his lover’s eyes. For the first time in his life, he’s actually scared of him. He holds his hands up, trying to keep distance between the two of them.

When Marvin doesn’t say anything, Whizzer’s shoulders slump. It’s as if the fight goes out of him.

“Even here… even alone you can’t act like it’s just the two of us and talk to me like a decent human being. It's all about appearances to you, isn't it? Fuck this, I’m out.”

And Whizzer turns on his heel and storms out of the room — Marvin can’t even bring himself to call out and stop him.

* * *

Marvin doesn’t stay much longer. When he passes by his boss, the man doesn’t say much of anything to him. So either he doesn’t care about the earlier outburst (unlikely), he was unaware anything happened (doubtful), or he has nothing to say to Marvin. At least he’s not fired, but that could change by the time Josh makes any of his demands known.

Josh… who is conspicuously absent from the party. Great, he'll be hearing about this on Monday — if Marvin still has a job by then.

Rather than wait around for questions or another scene to crop up, he makes his excuses ( _I told Trina I wouldn’t stay out that late, you see. Good as always to see you, but I should get back to her._ ) and exits with his tail between his legs. He isn’t sure why he keeps up the charade of being the dutiful husband returning to his doting and ill wife, other than it’s habit and it returns a bit of order to his otherwise chaotic evening.

Marvin can't help but run damage control.

As Marvin rides down the elevator, he’s already rehearsing what to say to Whizzer when he gets back to their apartment. If Whizzer will even speak to him at this point. Hell, for all he knows, his boyfriend has gone out to pick up someone else for the night. He exits the building and starts the long trek back to the apartment. He doesn’t want to take the subway, wants to walk through the streets and use the time to clear his head. The streets are strangely deserted up here, though it’s not like most people choose to walk the streets of NYC after midnight.

Marvin scrubs a hand over his face. This shouldn’t be so hard to be happy, should it?

He’d love to say that an epiphany comes like a smack upside the head.

He’d love to say that a moment of clarity strikes him, changing his perspective and making him comfortable in this skin as a gay man.

He’d love to say anything but what actually happens to him.

Instead of a lot of pretty words and metaphors — it’s the strike of a bat into his abdomen that knocks the wind from him and sends him crumpling to the ground. When he's finally able to draw in a breath, a scream escapes his lips as the bat takes a second swing and connects squarely with his face.

If anyone hears his cries, they all abandon him. They all leave him to whatever fate has in store for him.

Because in this city, no one comes to your aid. Not to a girl assaulted in an alley and certainly not to a queer man being beaten because of his sexuality.

Marvin curls into a ball, trying to protect as much of himself as possible, but the hits come in spite of his best efforts. To his head, his legs, his back. With each swing, Marvin can feel another bruise blossoming; a crack that could either be a bone snapping or his heart breaking. Marvin coughs, his ribs aching with the movement, and tastes blood in his mouth. The longer this goes on, the more Marvin is unable to cry out in pain or for help or to get his attacker to stop. He’s paralyzed, both in fear and in pain, utterly powerless and so very alone.

For all his care, for all his… everything — once outed, even to such a small group, Marvin is quick to become yet another statistic. Nothing more than another gay man beaten for no reason than the fact that he loves men more than women.

That one fact has turned a man who was once his friend into a bat-wielding devil.

When the beating finally abates, Marvin sees the bat fall from his assailant’s fingers to clatter just beside his head. He's lucky. Any closer and the bat might have shattered his temple. This man knew what he was doing — knew exactly how hard to injure but not to kill. He's done this before, a fact that turns Marvin's stomach more than the beating did. How many other men has this asshole targeted?

The attacker drops down and he finds himself face-to-face with Josh. His wonderfully homophobic client. Marvin fights the urge to vomit. 

“You breathe a word of this to anyone you fucking fairy, I’ll finish what I started tonight. You understand me, faggot?” Josh spits in his face, the gob of mucus mingling with blood as it slides down his cheek. “I'll find another CPA. I don’t want some goddamned _queer_ handling my affairs.”

As if by simply handling his papers or money, Marvin will turn him gay. The idea would be laughable if Marvin was trying not to pass out.

With one final kick to his torso, Josh departs. Marvin watches him until he disappears down one of the avenues, lost to a crowd of people who don't know they're walking beside the perpetrator of a hate crime. It's sick how easily a man like that can blend, act like they didn't just leave another man for dead.

Marvin doesn’t even try to climb to his feet. All he does is curl up tighter into a ball. No one approaches him. People cross to the other side of the street, as if ignoring him means he isn't even there. At this point, Marvin doesn't expect to live the night. This is where he'll die, crumpled amongst the garbage and refuse of the city, alone and forgotten.

People say when you near the end of your life, your past flashes before your eyes. There's none of that for Marvin. All he sees is a parade of his mistakes: Trina, his fight with Whizzer.

Will Whizzer even mourn him?

What will Trina say tell Jason? That his father was hit by a car? Anything to shield Jason from the truth, probably.

With Whizzer and Jason’s faces circling and melding in his mind — until they’re one face (his own) looking down at him. Huh. He always wanted to see his face in theirs.

It’s his last thought before everything goes black.

* * *

When he finally comes to, pain blossoms through his head and chest. He carefully breathes in and out, as if testing his ribs to see if anything is cracked or broken. It’s painful, but not to the level of excruciating so he assumes there isn’t any permanent damage. Cracked, perhaps, but not fully fractured.

He’s only able to see through one eye, the other one is swollen shut.

He tastes something metallic in his mouth and he knows he’s bleeding from _somewhere_ , but it’s impossible to say from where. All he can smell is blood when he breathes in. His entire body feels like a punching bag. Marvin doesn’t trust himself to move into a sitting position, so he rolls onto his back, head in the gutter and staring up at a burned-out streetlamp.

“Marvin! _MARVIN!_ ” The sound of running footsteps. "Marvin, oh my god, Marvin. No, no no..."

Dimly, he’s aware of someone shouting his name, but it’s muffled through the haze in his head. Is this what a concussion feels like? Cotton and copper mix in his mouth and it’s a struggle to swallow. Maybe he’s dead. But would he still be in pain if he were? Some fucking afterlife this is.

“Christ, Marvin, I’m so sorry. I need you to be okay. Please, god, I'm so sorry.”

It sounds like Whizzer, but those are words he never hears from his friend’s lips. An actual apology? Yeah, he must be dead.

Marvin feels himself being moved, being lifted into a pair of strong arms. He probably should have been worried about being moved and a spinal injury and whatever permanent damage could be triggered, but Marvin can't even think through the consequences. Even if he could, he doesn’t care. Besides, he can still wiggle his toes. He knows the whole of his body is going to be a mess of bruises and lacerations in the morning — nothing a few days of bed rest won’t fix. Marvin turns his head, burying his face in the crook of Whizzer’s neck.

This time, he’s not worried about appearances. Isn’t worried that he’s practically nuzzling another man’s neck as he’s carried like a damsel in distress back to his small apartment. He’s already been beaten for being gay. What more could anyone do to him?

Because on Monday, he’ll put on concealer and pretend like nothing happened. Pretend that one of the homophobic clients didn’t just beat him senseless. Pretend that Whizzer is just a friend, go back to that stupid ‘cousin’ or ‘brother’ story and slip back into the professional closet once more.

He’ll make an excuse and not pitch a fight when the biggest account of his career is passed to a subordinate or leaves the firm entirely — never speaking a word of what happened to him. How he nearly lost his life because of who he loves. He'll do whatever he can to salvage his career and make sure Whizzer never comes with him to one of these events again. It doesn't matter how he'll have to grovel to get Trina to come next year, he's going to keep up appearances no matter what the cost.

Because even after all of this, Marvin still has this infernal need to have it all.

* * *

Marvin has no idea how they managed to make it home or how long it took them to stumble back to safety. Whizzer damn near carried him the last ten blocks (though not without stopping about fifty times. Marvin isn’t light and Whizzer isn’t a bodybuilder), then helped him out of the bloody and torn suit, though he could have sworn he heard something akin to a sigh of relief when it got tossed into the trash. Even injured, Whizzer still has to make a comment on his fashion sense. But even that small return to normalcy is more of a balm than any bandage Whizzer applies.

Most of the cuts have sealed on their own, save for the worst ones on his temple and back of his head. A bit of cotton sticks out of his nose, catching the last drops from his nostril.

Marvin’s sitting, naked, on the toilet while Whizzer runs a bath.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” Whizzer asks for the thousandth time.

“I’m sure,” he replies. His eye is still swollen shut, but they managed to stem the bleeding from the cut on his lip. “Honestly, all I want is to get clean, crawl into bed, and forget this ever happened.”

“Going to the hospital is the smart thing to do, you know.”

“I’m sure it is. But then there will be police reports and all sorts of things I really don’t want.”

Whizzer turns off the tap and carefully eases Marvin into the near-booing water. Marvin hisses, his body protesting the movement until he’s submerged up to his neck. His torso is a mess of bruises and a few superficial cuts that reopen when exposed to the bath. A wound near the back of his neck seeps blood, turning the water near his shoulders a pale shade of pink.

“How can you not want to press charges?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But it _does_ ,” Whizzer says, hitting his hand against the water and splashing water up onto the tiles. “You deserve to know who did this to you. They deserve to be thrown in jail. You can’t just… let them get away with this. Like nothing matters!”

Marvin grows silent, afraid Whizzer will push him further. Afraid that if Whizzer presses, he’ll say something and inadvertently admit. Knowing the warning. Not wanting another beating or, worse, the fate that might have awaited him in that fucking gutter had Whizzer not rescued him.

What more can he say?

Instead of further conversation, the only sound in the bathroom is the water lapping gently against Marvin’s skin as Whizzer slowly washes every bit of him. There’s nothing sexual about the act and, if anything, Marvin feels like a small child being bathed. He closes his eyes, giving over to Whizzer’s touch and the sensation of being _safe_.

* * *

It’s almost strangely domestic and Marvin doesn’t quite know what to do with this.

They’re curled up in bed together, Marvin’s hair still wet from the bath and Whizzer looking at him with an expression Marvin hasn’t ever seen on his face before. _If he loved me…_ But that’s not the relationship Whizzer ever admitting to wanting, so Marvin concedes none of his own feelings.

“It happened to me, once,” Whizzer’s voice breaks the uncomfortable silence that began in the bathroom.

“What did?”

Whizzer’s fingers lightly trace the bandage on Marvin’s temple. A few inches in any direction and this story would have had a very different ending. “Getting beaten up for being gay.”

“How did you—”

“It doesn’t matter how I knew,” Whizzer says, shaking his head, fingertips moving to brush along the scabbed wound on Marvin’s lip. “Though you just confirmed my educated guess was correct.”

Marvin swears under his breath.

“If you know who did this to you and aren’t saying, then fine. Far be it for me to judge when my ex-best friend back home beat me to within an inch of my life when he caught me kissing his brother…” 

If he wasn't so comfortable (and out of pain for the first time all night), Marvin would have sat up in bed. "You never told me about this."

"You never asked," Whizzer replies. "But I'm not sure where I was supposed to fit my own gay bashing in between 'are you a top or a bottom' and 'are you sure your wife doesn't mind'?" 

It's a fair point, though Marvin refuses to concede the high ground.

"What happened?"

"There's not much to tell, really. I knew I was different from everyone else, even when I was a kid. Middle-of-Nowheresville isn't exactly the place to come out, so I stayed quiet. Thought I was safe... that my best friend would understand no matter what. So when his older brother kissed me... well. Turns out some people thought I was gay and wanted to see the freak in action."

"So your friend's brother...?"

"Was straight. Agreed to the plan because they didn't want my kind around."

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

"Goddamn."

"God has nothing to do with it. I don't think he was in Nebraska that time of year. If he was, he forgot to pass along a few messages to his followers. Namely the whole love thy neighbor part." Whizzer exhales. “I left as soon as I graduated from high school and never looked back." Another sigh. "But the moral of the story is that I never turned him in. So if you're not going to give up whoever did this to you — though I bet I could hazard a guess — I won't judge. I’ve learned it’s better not to throw stones when your own house is made out of glass and is stocked with nothing but black kettles.”

Marvin swallows hard. He shudders to think of what it must have been like for Whizzer, barely a child and to have his best friend turn on him like that. It makes Marvin want to confess so many sins but, instead, he keeps his mouth shut. There isn’t much he can really say to that — _I’m sorry_ feels like an empty platitude and _I’ll kill him for hurting you_ doesn’t help matters. It was an eternity ago.

In the end, it’s Whizzer who speaks. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Two apologies in one night? Marvin's back to wondering if he did die on the street. “For everything that happened tonight."

Marvin presses a light kiss to Whizzer's lips. "What happened tonight isn't your fault. You didn't pick up the bat."

"I never should have forced you to invite me," Whizzer protests. "If I wasn't there, I wouldn't have accidentally outed you. Plus I shouldn’t have said what I did about Trina. Or… really said half of the things I did tonight." This time it's Whizzer who drops a kiss to Marvin's forehead, pulling Marvin in as close as he can. "I also shouldn't have abandoned you at the party. If I'd have just stayed, it would have been the two of us."

"So then he'd have attacked us both," Marvin replies. "You can't play the what-if game."

Whizzer continues as if Marvin hadn't spoken in the first place. "I can't stop thinking about what would have happened if…”

 _If you had died,_ hangs between them, neither man able to say the words. So many unspoken words between them, so many regrets Marvin knows he’d have carried with him to the grave. And even this near-death experience hasn’t managed to loosen either of their tongues.

All Marvin can do is nestle closer. Steal a gentle kiss or three — and fall asleep entwined in the arms of the man he loves and nearly died for, but still cannot admit to himself that he can’t have it all.

Still can’t admit to himself that all he needs is Whizzer.

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter of the college AU is coming, I promise! (Sorry there wasn't any fic updates last week, I was dying of the plauge for most of it. ugh.) Another fic inspired by the amazing @lessracquetball on tumblr. Because she draws amazing art and I have to write fics for it. <3
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are love! Back next week with either more CollegeAU OR the start of another brand new series! (Yes, the long promised Falsettos High School Teacher AU!)


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